Ghost of a Rose
by mteagle128
Summary: His tired mind heard her voice, felt her fingers run through his hair.  He knew it was not real.  He didn't care.   He let the memory of her lure him from consciousness anyway.   Sess/Rin


Disclaimer: Rin, Sesshoumaru and all other characters from _Inuyasha_ belong to Rumiko Takahashi and the other various entities involved with the production of the manga and anime. I do not profit from this piece, nor is any copyright infringement intended by it.

A/N: This piece was inspired by the song, "Ghost of a Rose," by Blackmore's Night. It's a really nice song and I highly recommend it if you haven't heard it. Also, this fic is pretty depressing... just the mood I was in, I suppose.

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><p>A tall, shadowy figure stood at the top of a hill in the dark January night. The cold winter wind gusted viciously around him, whipping the tail of the long, black wool coat around trouser-clad legs—wardrobe more indicative of the times—and throwing strands of now only shoulder-length hair into his face. He paid it no mind; his thoughts wandering to days gone by as he stared into the distance.<p>

She had always loved this place.

Sesshoumaru came upon the secluded, untouched valley during one of his wanderings while on patrol many years earlier, centuries ago to precise. The view on that summer day was breathtakingly serene. Feathery clouds lazed overhead in the otherwise clear sky. A crystal blue stream snaked across the curves of the land. Lush green grass carpeted the rolling hills with pockets of wildflowers dappling the ground. Bushes full of wild white roses littered the tree line, filling the air with their sweet perfume.

He immediately thought of Rin, making a mental note to show this to her someday. Within the next few weeks, he did. True to form, the girl was ecstatic, thrilled to be in a place that held so much natural beauty. She especially liked the roses. She thanked him endlessly, asking him if they could return there again.

He agreed.

It became their place—someplace they could go to escape prying eyes and flapping tongues; a place where he could truly enjoy her company without interference, annoyance or interruption.

It was the place where she told him her thoughts, her hopes and her dreams.

It was the place where, late one rainy night, they shared their first kiss.

It was the place where they first made love; the place where he, going against all he once thought he believed, asked her to be his wife as they basked in the afterglow and warmth of the August sun.

A few short decades later, it was the place she spent her final moments, cradled in his arms.

It was the place where she rested now and the place where he sought solace ever since.

The same place where he sought solace today . . .

He heard the sound of twigs snapping behind him as another person approached. The gate was slow and unsteady, the centuries rapidly catching up to the owner of the legs.

"Oy, Sesshoumaru," called the crackly voice. "I thought you might be here."

Sesshoumaru continued staring into the distance. "Don't you have something more important to do with what little remains of your life than to bother me?"

"Keh, this ain't a social call, asshole. The only reason I'm not in bed right now is because _your_ kid won't quit calling me in the middle of the night, bugging me to find out where you are."

"Her concern is unnecessary."

"Pick up the damn phone and tell her that yourself. You know, this is the exact reason they were invented in the first place. This way, us old folk can stay at home, watch our shows and get to bed at a decent hour."

Sesshoumaru finally turned his head and shot a scathing glare at the elderly-looking man beside him. "'Old folk?' Have you, in your old age, forgotten which of us is actually the eldest, _little brother_?"

Inuyasha rolled his eyes. "Not all of us have aged as gracefully as you. Or have you finally gone senile and forgotten that you're a full-fledged youkai?"

"Daiyoukai," Sesshoumaru corrected, turning away again. "Being grouped with those other wretches is beneath me."

"Whatever," Inuyasha said with a snort before turning to look out onto the valley himself. "Michiko said you got another offer on the land."

"I did."

"And?"

Golden eyes narrowed as he shot a cold, sideways glance at his brother. "Age truly came alone for you, didn't it, Inuyasha?"

A confused look crossed the hanyou's wrinkled face. "What?"

Sesshoumaru shook his head. Inuyasha obviously did not read enough to understand the insult. Such a shame that such a witty retort was lost on this imbecile. "What do you think I told them? I have no intention of selling this land to a developer whose only goal is to turn this into skyscrapers and parking lots. Need I remind you that my wife is buried not ten feet from where we stand?"

Inuyasha glanced at the modest stone marker that stood by a leafless sakura tree. "Yeah, I know."

Silence filled the space between them. For a while, they stood side-by-side, staring off into the distance, listening to the wind as it howled through the trees.

The silence was broken by a deep breath, then a sigh. "She also said it's back."

Sesshoumaru head snapped around, surprise and ill-suppressed anger evident on his face; his voice low and dangerous. "How does _she_ know?"

"Michiko said your doctor called looking for you after you blew off your last appointment. She recognized his name from before and put two and two together. So it's true, then? The cancer is back?"

Sesshoumaru looked away, giving only the slightest of nods as his answer. It was humiliating. How could someone like him, with all his strength, be felled by something so petty, so _pathetic_, as disease? It was not the honorable way for a warrior to die. It made him feel weak . . . powerless. It was _disgusting_.

Inuyasha pressed on. "Is there anything they can do? Treat it like they did before?"

"It's useless."

Sesshoumaru paused, his scowl deepening as his brother's eyes widen. He hated that look. He wanted no one's sympathy. He wanted no one's pity. That was precisely the reason he had not told anyone of the recurrence and the reason he would not tell Inuyasha, or anyone else, that tumors had spread to his brain. They would take over his life, just like before, treating him like a child or an invalid, talking about him in whispers as though they thought he could not hear them.

He was sick, not stupid.

"Everything they can do they have tried and have failed. It's spreading. All they can do is 'manage my symptoms.'"

"Figures . . . damn doctors haven't done anything useful for anyone for decades," he said with a shake of his head. "So, what are you going to do now?"

What was he going to do? Sesshoumaru had no idea. His affairs were in order; he had seen to that the first time he fell ill. Save for the money he had put into trust for his grandchildren, Michiko was to inherit everything—including the land on which they stood. He knew it would be safe with her; she who was so much like her mother. He knew she would honor his wishes.

"Wait and see what unfolds." It was all that could be done.

"I see. Well, I'll leave you to it then," Inuyasha replied as he turned to leave. "It's late and all this cold air makes my joints stiff. Call your kid, would ya?"

Sesshoumaru did not respond, merely listening as his brother's footsteps grew fainter and fainter. When he was sure he was again alone, he fell to his knees, his breath coming in short, ragged pants as the waves of pain, dizziness and nausea he felt all night finally overwhelmed him. Clawed fingers dug into the frozen dirt and amber eyes clenched shut as he fought the urge to expel the contents of his stomach. Maintaining the façade before Inuyasha sapped the little strength he still had.

He crawled on hands and knees across the ground, slowly making his way to lie by her side. Exhausted, he laid his head on the cold ground.

"This is not how I intended this visit to be," he whispered to the woman who was not there to hear him.

Reaching into the interior breast pocket of his coat, he removed a dried rose carefully wrapped in parchment. He leaned up to set it at the base of the granite marker, before closing his eyes. "This is for you."

His tired mind heard her voice, felt her fingers run through his hair. He knew it was not real. He didn't care. He let the memory of her lure him from consciousness anyway.

_Sleep, love. You've fought hard enough for today. _

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><p><em><em>A/N: Hope you guys liked it. Thanks for your time!


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